The ride back to the castle was smooth, but for Aric, his real problems were just beginning.
He'd managed to pull off a charade convincing enough to make the Vale family think they had died, but lies, even the best ones, have a way of coming to light.
And the Duke? He was no fool.
When Aric reached the gates of the castle, the first blush of dawn was scrawled across the sky. Dismounting and leaving his horse in the care of a waiting stablehand, he walked through the courtyard.
One was already waiting for him.
"The Duke requests your presence at once," said the man, voice stiff and formal.
Aric smirked. No rest for the wicked, huh?
With a nod, he followed.
Outside of Duke Vaelis and a few of his closest advisors, the throne room was nearly empty.
[Final Headline: Duke in Midnight-Blue Robes, Golden Signet Ring on the Gloved Hand]The Duke perched at his high-backed chair, dressed in midnight-blue robes, a golden signet ring resting on his gloved hand. As Aric approached, his expression unreadable.
Aric knelt, by custom, but the act held no reverence — only practicality.
"Rise," the Duke commanded.
Aric did, looking into the man's cold gaze.
"I am informed," the Duke said, voice steady but a commensurate burden of authority. "The Vale family is no more."
Aric maintained a neutral expression. "As you ordered."
The Duke frowned, drumming one finger on the armrest of his chair. "It was done… quietly. Efficiently."
Aric bowed his head a little. "A bloody spectacle would have attracted unwanted attention."
The Duke chuckled softly. "Indeed."
Silence hung between them for a long moment. Aric could sense the layers of scrutiny, as though the Duke were peeling his skin, looking for traces of lies.
Then, finally—
"You have become useful," the Duke said.
Aric smirked. "Glad to hear it."
The Duke smiled faintly. "That's why I have another job for you."
Aric had expected this. It was never just one job.
He folded his arms. "I'm listening."
The Duke gestured at one of his advisors, a haggard man with inky fingertips. The advisor unrolled a scroll, showing a map of the capital.
"There has been, shall we say… an issue in the lower districts," the Duke said. "A hard hand — that's the one it needs."
Aric glanced at the map. There was crime writ large in the lower districts, but also the occasional whisper of revolution.
The Duke's gaze darkened. "A faction of self-identified Silver Cloaks has been inciting unrest. "They operate in the shadows, disseminate dangerous ideas — that the noble class has grown weak, that the commoners should rise."
He scoffed. "Fools."
Aric raised an eyebrow. "You want them silenced?"
The Duke drummed his fingers on the armrest. "I want the head of their leader on a spike."
Aric smirked. Direct. Brutal. But also… interesting.
"And the leader's name?"
The advisor spoke this time. "A man named Corin Ashford."
Aric frowned slightly. The name was familiar.
"He used to be a knight under my command," the Duke went on. "Until he chose to betray his oaths. Now he sits among the filth and poisons the minds of my people."
The Duke bowed his head slightly. "Find him. Kill him. Make an example of him."
Aric's grin didn't go anywhere, but he could feel the noose getting tighter.
This was not just another job. It was a test.
If Aric wavered — if he played far too safely, the Duke would come to suspect.
He needed to play this smart.
So he simply nodded. "Consider it done."
That night Aric threw on a dark cloak and ventured into the city alone.
The lower levels were a labyrinth of winding streets and decaying buildings. The air was heavy with dried stone, smoking wood and unwashed bodies.
He drifted through the streets like a specter, staying out of the light.
CORIN Find Corin Ashford wouldn't be easy.
But Aric was not one to beat around the bush.
Hours later, Aric was ensconced in a darkened tavern, the sort of place where information passed from mouth to mouth as readily as currency.
He was propped against the bar, ordering a drink, eyes roaming the room.
Then, he spotted her.
A woman occupied the farthest booth, her hood drawn low, but Aric recognized the sharp lip of her jaw, the shimmer of metal under her cloak.
A Silver Cloak agent.
He grabbed his drink and came over — and slid into the chair opposing her unbidden.
She stiffened, hand moving toward her dagger.
Aric smirked. "Relax. I'm not here to kill you."
Her golden eyes narrowed. "Yet."
Aric chuckled. "That depends on how valuable you are."
She hesitated but did not draw her weapon. "What do you want?"
Aric leaned in slightly. "Corin Ashford. Where is he?"
Her face was inscrutable as ever. "Why would I tell you?"
Aric took a sip of his drink, looking me in the eye. "Because if you don't, I will light this whole district on fire and burn it to the ground until I find him on my own."
A beat of silence.
Then, finally, she exhaled.
"There's an old warehouse by the docks," she said softly. "He's been using it as a safe house.
Aric smirked. "See? That wasn't so hard."
He started to get up, but as he did, she spoke again.
"If you pursue him," she warned, "you won't return."
Aric paused, then chuckled. "I've heard that before."
Then he vanished into the night.
The warehouse was still when Aric arrived, with just the sound of lapping waves against the docks and the occasional creak of wooden beams.
He moved stealthily, weaving amongst the darkness and keeping his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
Then, he heard voices.
Through a narrow crack in the wooden boards, he could see Corin Ashford over a table, only his back, but he could hear him whispering.
But it wasn't Corin that had caught Aric's attention.
It was the woman who was next to him.
Lady Evelyne.
Aric's smirk vanished.
Well, well…
This just got interesting.